Aragorn's Alter
by The Trojanhorse
Summary: Faramir is a therapist. Aragorn has a problem. Put two and two together


Aragorn's Alter

Disclaimer; As per standard disclaimers; characters are not mine, they're J.R.R. Tolkien's, all apart from Mrs Forsyth and the Psychiatric Inspector. There is currently debate as to whether MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder, also known as Dissociative Identity Disorder or DID) actually exists. If it does, then it belongs to the world of psychiatry. If it doesn't, then I blame Dr. Cornelia Wilbur and her patient Sybil. The story of Sybil is the main inspiration behind this rather odd fic. And apologies, yes, this is another LOTR-characters-in-the-modern-world fic.

A/N; Wheee! I've fixed the formatting!

Part 1

Aragorn woke up. Someone was kissing him, and a hand was working its way down . . . - a masculine hand, his rapidly stocktaking brain cut in, and the kissing definitely involved stubble.

Sweet bloody Elbereth, not again!

Aragorn shot out of that bed like one of Queen Beruthiel's cats out of Battersea Dogs Home, and hit the opposite wall in his attempt to escape. The other occupant of the bed rolled over. He yawned, and then started eyeing up Aragorn rather appreciatively. Hastily, Aragorn cast around for his clothing.

'A Mr. Telcontar to see you, Doctor Denver.' said the secretary over the intercom. Doctor F. Denver, psychiatrist, formerly known as Faramir son of Denethor, Prince of Ithilien, readied himself to see his former liege lord and current patient.

Aragorn stormed into the office.

'It's happened again.' he said grimly, thumping himself down in the chair. Faramir cradled his chin in his hand, regarding the Heir of Isildur frankly.

'This would be the, what, third time this fortnight you've had one of these incidents?' he asked, switching a dictaphone on as he spoke.

'Third time I've ended up in bed with another man, you mean?' snarled Aragorn. 'You don't seem at all concerned, Faramir. I thought the whole point of this therapy was to fix me?' He glowered threateningly over the desk.

Faramir tried not to be intimidated. His memories of the various conflicts in Gondor, and Aragorn's skill with a broadsword were getting in the way, however. Aragorn was in the sort of mood that in ages gone past would definitely have preceded his reaching for Anduril.

Aragorn had been in therapy for his Multiple Personality Disorder for over a year now. Seven alters had been identified, and so far six of them had been integrated back into Aragorn. The seventh, Thorongil, was so far resisting attempts at integration. Sometimes (rarely) the alters were useful. The best example of this was when Frodo was attacked on Weathertop. After the Ringbearer had been stabbed by the morgul-blade, Aragorn had started to panic. Then he'd blacked out. The alter personality calling himself Strider had come to the fore, administering first aid, and saving Frodo's life. That same alter had saved Eowyn and Faramir in the Houses of Healing. Unfortunately, most of the time the alters were simply a pain. Aragorn had once woken up from one of his 'blank periods' to find he was on the batter's plate in the middle of a softball game, for example. And the time he woke up to find he'd married Arwen, who was technically his step-sister, and definitely his cousin, was just plain disturbing. But it was Thorongil who caused the most problems. Thorongil was gay. Aragorn on the other hand was rabidly homophobic. Hence the problems Aragorn experienced. It was now getting so that not a week would go by without Aragorn waking up in another man's bed. With the other man still in it, in various states of undress. But Thorongil refused to show himself in front of the psychiatrist. Faramir had never actually met him. And that was the problem.

'I can't even start to work on integrating him until I meet him, Aragorn.' said Faramir patiently. 'We've been over this.'

Indeed they had, many times. Various methods had been tried to force the recalcitrant alter to show himself, or at least to make him leave. Aragorn had even (without consulting Faramir) attempted to have Thorongil exorcised.

'Well, find a way then!' said Aragorn. 'This is driving me insane!' And with that, he stormed back out of the office.

Faramir pondered the problem over the two days until his next appointment with Aragorn. He decided to try hypnosis.

That Thursday, at the correct time, Aragorn came back into Faramir's office, with another 'incident' to report. And this time it was more serious. The attractive male Thorongil had surfaced to meet was none other than Elladan. Aragorn's surprise in bumping into the tall peredhil in the street was enough to let Thorongil jump into the driver's seat and hit the accelerator, as it were. The next morning Aragorn nearly died of embarrassment. Especially when it turned out that Elrohir was in the room next door. He respected those elves, he'd gone orc-hunting with them, for Elbereth's sake, they were his foster-brothers, he thought disgustedly, and now they probably thought he'd only hung around with them in hopes of getting into their pants. Aragorn was revolted with himself. He resolved to be more helpful to Faramir in future.

'I mean, why didn't they turn him down? They think it's me. They've known me for years. . .'

Privately, Faramir rather thought that if Aragorn had made advances to him, he wouldn't have declined, but both his former position of 'subject' and his current one of 'psychiatrist' refused to let him voice such opinions. In fact, he wouldn't have even taken Aragorn on as a patient if it hadn't been for the fact that, under a previous psychiatrist, he'd started talking freely about governing Gondor and his orc-killing record. He'd nearly been admitted to an institute as delusional and a danger to the general population. Faramir had been called in to give a second opinion. It was obvious that Aragorn needed therapy, but just as obvious that he needed a psychiatrist who a) wasn't going to be shocked by Aragorn's tales of mass slaughter, and b) who would actually believe the tales (to a certain extent, at least, dead orc tallies can be exaggerated over the years) and see past them to Aragorn's real problems. And as he was the only psychiatrist who fitted this profile, Faramir had to ignore his hormones, and concentrate on Aragorn's cure.

It was time to try hypnosis.

'Follow the watch with your eyes. You are getting sleepy. Aragorn is getting sleepy. When I click my fingers, Thorongil will surface.' Faramir clicked his fingers. Aragorn immediately began imitating a chicken. Cursing, Faramir chased the chicken-Aragorn around the office until he could make him stand still to be woken up.

'Did it work?' asked Aragorn hopefully.

'No.'

Aragorn was despondent. 'Faramir, please. For, for old times sake? You can't leave me like this!' His anger had changed into desperation. And his lower lip was wobbling. Desperate not to see Aragorn cry, Faramir thought quickly. 'Could you write down the exact details of all of the incidents? I mean,' -he appended hastily when he saw the panicked look on Aragorn's face (what had he been doing then?)-  'what you were doing when Thorongil took over, and that sort of thing? So I can work out a trigger? Something to make him come forward.'

Grudgingly, Aragorn agreed that he would.

'Dr Denver, Mr Telcontar left these papers on your desk. He said you'd requested them.'

'Could you bring them in please, Mrs Forsyth?'

'Certainly Doctor.'

A sheaf of pages torn out of an exercise book was brought to him.  He read slowly through them. Quite often, Thorongil seemed to take over when Aragorn got drunk. Or was hurt. In any case, each time, something seemed to happen to make Aragorn weaken. Taking him by surprise worked as well, Faramir noted. A surprise. . . An idea began to form. It would be unethical, and very much frowned on by his colleagues, but . . . the idea had a certain attraction.

The next time Aragorn strode into the office, Faramir rose to meet him. But instead of a more formal greeting, he kissed him. Feeling Aragorn pull back in surprise, Faramir was about to (reluctantly) relinquish the kiss, and chalk it up as another failed attempt, when suddenly the kiss deepened. Indeed, Faramir's last conscious thought was that if it got any deeper a Balrog would jump out.

By the time thought regained control over wildly surging hormones, Aragorn had Faramir pinned to the desk. The good doctor struggled out of the embrace, trying to get a look at his patient. Thwarted, Aragorn then began to kiss Faramir's neck.

'Aragorn?' said Faramir, slightly out of breath. The face turned back towards him. It wasn't Aragorn. It was different, rougher around the edges.

'Call me Thorongil' he said, grabbing Faramir again.

Part 2

'How could you? I trusted you! Whatever happened to the Hippocratic Oath?'

'It worked, didn't it?' said Faramir, busily putting back the things that had been knocked off his desk, and deliberately not looking at Aragorn, who was pacing the room furiously.

'Oh yes, if you can call that work! Not much therapy went on there, did it?'

'I meant, I've finally met Thorongil'

'Oh, met, is that what you're calling it? You did a bit more than meet him, Faramir!'

'At least we worked out the trigger.'

'Well you can bloody well find another trigger; because there's no way in hell you're using that one again.'

'But it worked!'

Aragorn had had enough. 'If that's all you can come up with, Faramir, I guess I'll just have to find myself a new psychiatrist.'

And with that he left the room.

The next day he was back. Faramir looked up from a singularly boring report on a patient who was convinced that the past presidents of the US inhabited his linen cupboard to find Aragorn, looking distinctly shamefaced, standing in front of him. Faramir sighed.

'Again?'

Aragorn nodded.

'Anyone we know?'

Aragorn swallowed hard. 'Legolas.' he said in a tiny voice. Faramir didn't know whether to laugh or to be shocked. He'd always thought the blond elf to be either severely not interested; or playing extreme hard-to-get.

'How did it happen?'

'I'd, I'd rather not say.' Aragorn fidgeted. 'Faramir. . .'

'Yes?'

'I'm sorry I said that thing about another psychiatrist.'

'That's all right.' Faramir felt that now was a tactful time to broach the subject of treatment. 'Do you want me to try and do something about this?'

'Yes!'

'I'm afraid it'll involve . . . the trigger.'

Aragorn swallowed again. 'All right. But if anything 'happens',' - his face took on its 'Don't mess with me, I'm a Numenorian' expression, - 'then I will personally disembowel you and feed the bits to Shelob.'

It was Faramir's turn to swallow. 'Fine.'

They both sat in silence for a moment.

'So, umm, how does this work?' asked Aragorn finally. He looked really rather worried.

Faramir got up and walked around to Aragorn's side of the desk, then sat down. Meeting Aragorn's eyes for a moment, he gingerly pecked him on the cheek.

'Well, I'm still me, so that wasn't hugely successful.' said Aragorn

'There's no need for the sarcasm.' Faramir hesitated. 'I think we're going to have to. . .'

'Kiss properly?' said Aragorn, the closest thing to a look of terror on his face that Faramir had ever seen.

They both squirmed for a moment, and then simultaneously turned and kissed each other. Faramir felt the change from Aragorn to Thorongil. Well, it wasn't hard to figure out. The increased force behind the kiss was one clue, but the most convincing evidence was definitely the way that Aragorn's - sorry, Thorongil's - hand was pulling at the fastening of Faramir's trousers. Faramir panicked at this point, remembering Aragorn's threat, and threw himself out of the embrace. Literally. The chair fell over, providing a barrier between Faramir and the puzzled looking Thorongil. _His eyes are a different colour . ._ . thought Faramir, trying to fight his rather overwhelming urge to just walk over there and . . ._No__! Be objective. What else is different? He carries himself differently. He looks a bit taller. He-_

'Thorongil?' he said, just to make sure.

'Yes? What?' Thorongil started to advance again. Faramir held up a hand.

'We can't . . . you know.'

'Why not?'

'I promised Aragorn.'

'Him? He's a washout.' Thorongil grinned. A cocky grin. _He's very sure of himself._ 'Do you know, he hasn't had a sha-'

'I don't need to know that!' said Faramir in a slightly strangled voice. Thorongil continued to look mystified. 'You do know I'm a psychiatrist, don't you?'

'Yeah. I can hear you when you talk to him, you know. So what?'

'I'm trying to integrate you and Aragorn.'

'Yeah, and I'll never get laid again if you do that. No thanks.'

Faramir righted the chair, but still kept it between him and Thorongil like some kind of oversize chastity belt.

'If I do integrate you two, you'll share each other's characteristics, you know.'

Thorongil took this in. And started grinning as something occurred to him. In a way, he was much quicker on the uptake than Aragorn. 'So, he'll be gay?'

'Possibly. But it won't be 'him'; it'll be you as well. You're the same person, you know.'

'Now wouldn't I just love to see a gay Aragorn. That'd be a laugh.' Thorongil mused. 'Tell you what, I'll think about it.' he said.

'Good.' said Faramir.

'Bye then.' said Thorongil suddenly, and before Faramir could say 'What?' Aragorn was back.

'Did it work? More importantly, did we. . ?

'Yes it did, and no we didn't.'

After a few of these sessions, Faramir started taking extra precautions. Like thermal underwear, trousers with a button fly, and a belt. With a really complex buckle, and a padlock. These obstacles thwarted Thorongil long enough to give Faramir enough time to disentangle himself, as Thorongil's idea of therapy wasn't quite what Faramir had in mind. Well, wasn't what Faramir's sensible brain cells had in mind. Some of the others had rather different ideas.

So far the sensible ones were winning. And it seemed to be working. Thorongil hadn't been so cocky for the last few sessions. In fact, if it hadn't been for the fact that he'd been groping Faramir so desperately, Faramir would definitely have thought that they'd already been integrated. There was very little difference between the two now.

On Monday, Aragorn came through the office door carrying a paper bag. To Faramir's enquiring look he said 'I went shopping. It's a hot-water bottle. My old one broke. Can we get on with it then?'

He leaned over the desk. Faramir reached forward and kissed him.

'Doctor Denver!'

Aragorn and Faramir sprang apart. Faramir was glad to note it was actually still Aragorn.

'What is this?'

'Umm. . .' On the wall, Faramir's calendar jumped out at him; 'Psychiatric Services Inspection; Monday' outlined in red stared angrily. How could he have forgotten the inspection?

'This is utterly against all of our ethical standards!' said the inspector, outraged. His face was getting redder and redder as he stood there.

'How is it not ethical for Frank to kiss his boyfriend?' asked Aragorn. Faramir started, but didn't argue; Aragorn was wearing his 'King of Gondor' face. But still, Frank?

'His what?'

'His boyfriend. His partner. You seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that I am a patient. However, I merely dropped by to give him his lunch, which he left at home this morning.' Aragorn brandished the paper bag. 'And now I will leave you to your no doubt essential psychiatric business.' He turned, grabbed Faramir, gave him a long and lingering kiss (as if to make a point), placed the paper bag ceremoniously on the desk, and strode out the door.

Faramir was slightly shell-shocked, but managed to make his way through the rest of the inspection without incident.

Aragorn's next appointment was Wednesday. But he turned up on Tuesday, during Faramir's lunchhour.

Faramir got the first question in.

'What was all that about then? On Monday?'

Aragorn shrugged. 'I did you a favour. Can I have my hot-water bottle back?'

'Well, thanks. You got me out of a tight spot there. Here's your bottle.'

Faramir handed him the paper bag. Aragorn turned to go. 'And if word of that favour gets out, what Eowyn did to the Nazgul will be nothing on what I do to you.' But the threat had less vehemence than usual. For lack of a better explanation Faramir put it down to lack of sleep due to the absence of the hot-water bottle and went back to his lunch.

Wednesday.

Aragorn turned up at the appointed time, twisting the hem of his jacket in his hands. He seemed very nervous. Faramir tried to be extra understanding.

'Any incidents recently?'

Aragorn shook his head.

'Good. We're obviously making progress.' This time, curiously, it was Aragorn who stepped round the desk and reached for Faramir. Faramir let him, and waited for Thorongil to surface. The kiss got more and more intense, and Aragorn's hands started wandering, but the change didn't come. By the time Faramir realised that it wasn't coming at all, they were back on the desk, and Aragorn, frustrated by the padlock, had employed his Numenorian strength to break it.

'Aragorn?' Faramir pushed himself back.

'Mmmhm?' Aragorn had started on the belt buckle

'Thorongil hasn't taken over at all lately, has he?'

'No. . .'

'And you're still kissing me. . .'

'Mmmhmm?'

'I think we may just have integrated you two.'

'Faramir?'

'Yes?'

'You think too much.' Aragorn pulled Faramir back down onto the desk. Faramir surrendered. For a while. Then his brain cut back in.

'But this is such a huge breakthrough. . .'

'So help me celebrate.' Aragorn was up to the buttons.

'We should do a CAT scan at least, just to check-'

Aragorn sat up, still straddling Faramir. 'Faramir.'

'Yes?'

'You do realise that an attempt at seduction is occurring here?'

'Yes but-'

'I mean, I realise I'm not practised, but I think some recognition of the fact should occur.'

'Yes, but-'

'So shut up and kiss me.'


End file.
